


A World of Weights

by estelraca



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Reincarnation, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 05:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6316990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire are stranded on a planet where a strange gravitational anomaly is threatening their lives, waiting to see if the rest of the Amis can come to the rescue.  Written for the Poisson d'Avril (April Fool's) exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A World of Weights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bobcatmoran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobcatmoran/gifts).



> This was written for Bobcatmoran, for the prompt of hot and heavy E/R. I hope that you enjoy!

_A World of Weights_

"We're going to die."

Enjolras doesn't say anything, continuing to lie on his back, his eyes fixed on the green-yellow sky above them.

Grantaire forces his body to move, turning onto his side so that he's facing Enjolras. It takes far more effort than it should, his muscles twitching and trembling in protest as they are forced to the edge of their endurance. Sweat drips down into his eyes, and Grantaire would try to rub it away except the helmet of his environmental suit is in the way. "We are going to die _stupidly_. Embarrassingly. Terribly."

"We aren't going to die." Enjolras' words are soft, but the comm equipment in their helmets transmits it with crystal-clarity to Grantaire's ears. "But even if we do, it won't be stupidly."

Grantaire huffs out a laugh. "I see you don't argue with the _embarrassingly_ or _terribly_."

Somehow Enjolras manages to be graceful as he turns on his side, even with the planet's bizarrely-increased gravitational field attempting to pin them to the surface of the world as firmly as ancient etymologists would pin butterflies. "I can think of far worse ways we could die. I think... we've experienced worse ways of dying."

Closing his eyes, Grantaire focuses just on breathing, half-remembered images dancing just out of reach. How long have the Amis been doing this—finding each other, changing the world?

Dying together?

A hand covers his, the slim fingers having the weight of a boulder. "There was nothing stupid about us coming here, Grantaire. There is nothing stupid about exploring the universe, or attempting to learn more about how everything works. And if that leads to our dying... I am glad, I think, that _this_ is what we are meant to die for, now. It will make Combeferre happy."

"Nothing about you dying could ever make Combeferre happy." Now it is Grantaire who speaks in a whisper, as gray-purple dust kicks up around them. A storm is building in the distance, flashes of lightning stronger and fiercer than anything Grantiare could even imagine. What is _happening_ on this planet? This was just supposed to be a routine reconnaissance mission, the _Corinth_ 's crew preparing a stronghold for the less-insane researchers that would follow them.

Everything had even gone well for the first ten days. Perhaps that should have been a sign. When things are going too well, it means that there is a mystery building.

There weren't any stories warning them to stay away from this planet, though. And there _should_ be stories, if something as fantastical as the breaking of gravitational and mass laws is going to happen. There should have been some surly aliens posting warning signs rather than simply a beautiful Earth-like planet with a scattering of stunted vegetation. It's just not narratively _appropriate_.

"I wonder if the message was received." Enjolras' words fall heavily into the silence.

The question is meant to be a distraction for Grantaire, he's fairly sure, since Enjolras is intelligent enough to know that neither of them has any possible way to say whether their distress signal reached the _Corinth_ or not. It's a small blessing, at least, that only the two of them will die here—that the others took the _Corinth_ out for a better survey of the far planets of the system, and should hopefully be far enough away to escape the effects of... well, the effects. "Even if the message was received, I doubt they'll be able to do anything. Escaping this type of gravitational field..."

"If it can be done, they'll find a way. We'll just wait and see." The faintest frown touches Enjolras' face, clearly visible through his helmet. At least technology has improved from the _last_ time Grantaire remembers dying in space, when heat like this would have meant a fogged helmet and the loss of any visual input. "I _do_ hope they received the transmission, though. The data alone from this phenomenon will be invaluable."

"I should not be surprised that you take exploration just as seriously as revolution." It's too much work to try moving his head, so Grantaire just blinks until he can see through the sweat pouring down his face. Will it be the heat or the pressure or the storm that kills them first?

"Exploration is an inherent part of revolution. It's not enough just to discard one path; you have to forge a new path, and that means exploring new territory." Enjolras smiles, his hand pressing a bit more firmly onto Grantaire's. "But if what you're saying is that you appreciate exploration being our primary purpose in this life... I would have to agree with you."

"It's what you were born to do." Grantaire resists the urge to cough, knowing that there is nothing blocking his airways. They are simply being crushed, slowly and inexorably. "Well, more rightly it's what Combeferre and Prouvaire are always born to do, but you take to it remarkably well. I'm... honored to have participated in this mission, even if it isn't going to end as we wished."

"I'm always honored to have you. You, and all the others." Enjolras' arm moves, and even he is becoming less graceful now, his motions choppy and pained as he raises his hand so that his fingers rest just beneath Grantaire's helmet. "We fight for humanity. And this time, at long last, that doesn't mean shedding human blood."

Grantaire should make a witty comment. He should deflect with more sarcasm. But he has always managed to be true, at the end, though he is the one of the Amis most prone to stumbling along the way, and Grantaire is becoming far too certain that this _is_ the end. His fingers are tingling; his head is pounding, a combination of dehydration and heat stroke as the environmental controls on his suit are overloaded; the storm is apparently not going to get a chance to even be a contender in the race to ensure their demise, coming in a far distant third.

At the end, there's only one thing he should ever say. "Thank you. For permitting this."

Enjolras smiles, blue eyes shining in a dark face made almost unfamiliar by the billowing dust and storm-created dusk that is swallowing them. "We aren't dead yet. Don't give up on their ingenuity. But still... thank _you_. For always coming along, even if you don't quite believe in the ride."

"It's a great ride. Full of great friends. And you always... you always make me want to believe. No." Grantaire frowns, his chest far too heavy. He has had asthma attacks in previous lives, he thinks, because this feeling is both familiar and horrifying, a promise of death to come. "You've always make me _believe_ , in the end, even when I've been determined not to. You and the others, you're _stars_ , and this planet, at least... this planet... is so grateful... to be... in orbit—"

A flash of light, lightning striking far too close to home; a dizzying moment of disorientation, and Grantaire's body struggles to draw in a breath, to _live_ , even though he _knows_ this is it, this is the end, this is—

The _Corinth's_ cargo hold, and a very concerned trio of heads is staring down at him—Combeferre's horned, hairless visage; Joly's four eyes, each one seeming to look at a different part of Grantaire or Enjolras' abused environmental suits; Eponine's feline-slit pupils narrowing as triple-jointed fingers begin working on the seams of said environmental suits.

"Did it work?" Prouvaire appears in Grantaire's vision, her double set of technicolor wings flashing frantically as she hovers a meter above the floor, antenna straining forward. "Are they alive? Is it a _good_ thing that they're alive?"

Enjolras shrugs out of his helmet, running a hand through his pale white hair. "There are very few times when it's bad to be alive, my friend."

"True." Joly, apparently satisfied that Grantaire isn't going to immediately die, turns all of their attention to Enjolras as he strips out of his suit. "But we do have a tendency to find those few times. Now doesn't appear to be one of them, though. Initial scan indicates a stressed but fully functional physiology for both of you."

"They're going to be fine?" Combeferre lays a hand on each of them, drawing in a slow breath through her thin nostrils, her horns darkening to a red that is almost black as she does. "Yes, I would agree. They're both going to be fine. Which means... we did it."

Prouvaire flutters another meter into the air, her antenna brushing the ceiling. "We successfully teleported two individuals!"

"Not _just_ teleported." Combeferre's horns begin lightening again in color, becoming an almost-translucent blue-white. "We teleported two individuals from within an _unknown gravitational anomaly_! The number of articles that we can publish about this mission alone—plus the _math—_ "

"Oh no." Grantaire groans as Eponine lifts his helmet off. "We're going to be hearing about this for weeks, aren't we? Can I request to be put back on the planet?"

Eponine tilts her head to the right. "Depends. How fast can you run to the bridge, and do you think you can convince Feuilly and Cosette to fly back into danger just because you hate mathematical discussions?"

"Depends. Is Marius around? I use him as a distraction for Cosette, and for Feuilly..." Grantaire hesitates. "Well, there were some very pretty and unusual color combinations that I saw shortly before we were rescued. I'm fairly certain they weren't _just_ hallucinations, and as a fellow artist he would hate to miss it."

"Come with me, you." Joly helps Grantaire strip the rest of his environmental suit off, two of his eyes rolling, the soft pads of his fingers sticking to Grantaire's bare skin when they touch. "Bossuet's got a nice sleeping pod arranged for you in sick bay, and he's dying to hear all about these colors you saw."

"I think we shouldn't use the _d_ -word again for a few days. And no fair telling him already." Grantaire leans gratefully against his friend, certain that Combeferre will escort Enjolras, likely over Enjolras' protest.

Joly shrugs. " _Bini_ -powers. Wouldn't trade them for the world. Musichetta agrees, and says it's too late to go back anyway, the planet just imploded."

Imploded sounds like a bad word when used in conjunction with a planet you were recently on, so Grantaire decides not to ask for details.

"Grantaire."

Enjolras' voice comes from just a few steps behind them, and Grantaire turns so that he's facing the _Corinth's_ captain.

A smile plays at the corners of Enjolras' mouth. "We didn't die."

Grantaire returns the smile with a grin. "As per usual, you were correct in your assessments. I stand by all that I said, though."

"As do I." Enjolras walks on his own, though Combeferre is hovering, ready to catch Enjolras if he seems to need it. "To the next bit of exploration, then?"

"Onward, good captain." Grantaire's grin becomes a small, fond, _true_ smile. "For as long as you will permit it."

Enjolras nods, and Grantaire needs no translation or stock of half-memories to know what it means.

As long as Grantaire is willing to try, Enjolras is willing to permit, and that's really all that Grantaire could ask for.


End file.
